


Four Naps in Root's Room

by speccygeekgrrl



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, I have a lot of Feelings about Harold and Root's friendship, Napping, Season/Series 05, This is really gratuitous and just to make myself feel better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 21:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14005380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/pseuds/speccygeekgrrl
Summary: Root's room in the subway is not exactly home, but it's the coziest little nest she can manage to feather given what she's got. And when comfort is in such short supply, it's greedy not to share it when you can.





	1. Root

**Author's Note:**

> I reached season 5 in my rewatch and I was knocked upside the head with the need for Team Machine fluff. And I've always been a sucker for the relationship between Root and Harold. I know I am about to be very badly hurt emotionally and I needed something cute before I get my heart torn out of my chest.

"Well, this is cozy," Root said, smoothing the soft purple comforter on her bed before sitting down on it. "Thanks, Harry. You get me the nicest things." 

"Anything to make your stay here less arduous," Harold said from the doorway, looking through the beaded curtain at the personal touches Root continued to add to her little nest in their underground lair. "You should get some rest."

"We have too much to do," Root said, but shot a longing glance at her pillow, and her hand kept rubbing back and forth over the very pleasing texture of the blanket.

"I think the benefits outweigh the delay. We can't afford to succumb to exhaustion either. And I can debug by myself for as long as you can manage to sleep."

"I think you need a nap as much as I do."

"Be that as it may, this is your bed and your new blanket, and you deserve to make use of it. Please, Miss Groves."

"Well, gosh, when you ask so nicely how can I say no?" The worry etched into his face had deepened over the days since they'd taken the Machine portable; it was worth giving in to his request just to see the slight smile her compliance evoked. 

"I'll leave you to it, then." She got up to turn off the lamps and paused with her hand still on the switch to watch him walk back to their interface with the Machine from her darkened room. 

Harold cared about her. It wasn't new information, but it was still thrilling to her every time another data point confirmed it. Despite everything she'd put him through, everything they'd been through together, all the times they'd been on shaky ground, he was still concerned for her well-being enough to tell her to take a nap.

Root tucked herself into bed and rubbed the blanket against her cheek. He'd gotten her one that felt exceptionally soft... because he cared about her and wanted her to enjoy what she could while she was on lockdown. He was thoughtful like that.

_I doubt I'll be able to sleep_ , she thought as she closed her eyes. 

She was wrong.


	2. Harold

"Oh, Harold," Root sighed, and put her hand on his shoulder gently. Harold startled and sat up, reaching up to fix the glasses that had gone crooked on his face while he was passed out on the keyboard. "Go lie down, I'll handle John and Lionel for a little while."

"I'm in the middle of something," Harold said, and Root shook her head.

"You're in the middle of a nap, which you are going to continue in a more appropriate location. Why don't you go take a spin under that blanket you got me? It's awfully cuddly."

"I'm not going to sleep in your bed."

"Don't be absurd, there's no reason for you to use the cot when there's an actual bed available. Come on, sleepyhead." She gave him a nudge out of the chair and he blinked owlishly at her, too tired to put up a fight when she put an arm around his shoulders and walked him into her bedroom. "Kick off your shoes. Want a bedtime story? How about Harold and the Purple Crayon?" 

"I'm afraid I had less success at remaking the world in my design in the end," Harold said as he laid down and set his glasses aside. Root tucked the soft blanket around him and leaned down to kiss his forehead.

"The story's not over yet. Sweet dreams, Harry." She flipped off the lights and reached for her earpiece before she even pushed through the beaded curtain. "Hello, Lionel. Did you pull those records yet?" It was good that they were getting numbers again. It gave a hint of normalcy to their increasingly abnormal situation.


	3. John and Bear

"You really need to stop getting shot," Root said as she cleaned the blood away from the most recent bullet hole to adorn John's body. At least this one was just a graze to the shoulder. That wasn't taking into account the number of blows John had taken, or the darkness under his eyes that was equal parts bruising and exhaustion. 

"Thanks, I didn't think of that," John said dryly, and she pursed her lips at him and swapped out the bloodstained gauze for a new piece to sterilize his wound. 

"It's hardly a solution, but I can't disagree with the sentiment," Harold said, busy poring over the contents of their number's laptop while Root tended to John's injuries. "Unfortunately, the only way to be sure no one will shoot at him is to not let him leave here."

"That's not happening," John said, and Root rolled her eyes. 

"Nobody's trying to sideline you, John. But it's awfully late and you'll have to be at the precinct in a few hours. You should catch some shut-eye while you can." She finished bandaging his shoulder and pointed toward her bedroom. "Go. My blanket's really cozy. We'll wake you up in time." He arched a brow at her.

"Seriously? You're sending me to your bed?"

"It's a surprisingly comfortable bed," Harold chipped in, and John's other brow went up.

"Spoken from experience?"

"I know what you need," Root said. "A cuddle buddy. Bear, hier!" The dog bounded over from his bed and sat attentively in front of her, and she scratched his ears. "Trust us, you'll be better for it in the morning."

"Don't you need to sleep?" John asked, one last shot at evading orders, and she smiled at him.

"I think today I'll be playing the part of the early bird," she said. "I expect some juicy worms once I get a crack at those files."

"Wait your turn," Harold said. "Actually, if you could put the kettle on, I'll let you at them once it boils. I'm nearly done."

"Can do," Root chirped, and pointed at her bedroom again. "Now go! And take the good boy with you." John shrugged the bloodstained remnants of his shirt off and did as he was told, Bear bounding ahead to stand by the bed until John got there. She looked after him for a moment, and turned in time to not miss the look Harold cast in his wake either. 

As much as she loved Harold, his reticence was not his best feature, and she wondered if he'd ever put words to the emotion that was so clear in his gaze every time he looked at John. Their time was running out; it seemed like such a waste for all their affection to go unspoken. Then again, she could stand to say a few things to them, too.

The light in the bedroom clicked out, and Root went to fill the electric kettle. "Green or black?"

"Oh... the sencha, please. I can take care of it, you don't--"

"Let me," she said, and when he turned that fond gaze on her she smiled. "I went through all the trouble of learning how to steep it right, shame if you don't let me use my knowledge."

"Far be it from me to curtail your usefulness," he said, and her smile widened.

"A welcome change in position. Now hurry up! My fingers are itching to get at those files." When the kettle started to boil and clicked off, she turned around to shoo him out of the chair and found him already out of it, standing by the door of her room and gazing through the beaded curtain. There was no way he could see John and Bear in the total darkness, but he lingered there for a long moment before he came to get the cup of tea she'd made for him. "You deserve a nap too," Root said as she sat down at the desk and started going through the files they'd stolen. "I'm sure he'd make room for you..."

"I hardly think two men and a military dog would fit on a twin bed," Harold said in a normal tone of voice, and a second too late straightened with a look of indignation. "Don't be ridiculous. Mr. Reese wouldn't--"

"I think you'd be surprised at what John would or wouldn't do," she said lightly. 

"I think it's best for everyone if I leave him in peace," Harold said, with a tone of voice that meant _drop it_. Root shrugged and focused on the computer. A couple of moments later, Harold deposited a mug on the desk next to her and she breathed in the aroma of her favorite chai. She wouldn't argue with him about this tonight, but she wouldn't drop it for long, either.


	4. Root and Harold

Having the Machine as an open system was all that Root had wanted for Her. Sure, the circumstances were about as far from ideal as could be imagined, but having the voice of the Machine back in her head went a long way toward making the impending apocalypse feel less like the end of the entire world on a personal scale. Still, for all she was the analog interface, Root wasn't a machine herself, and sometimes the empty space in her heart where Sameen was supposed to go hurt so badly that not even the voice of God was consolation enough in the moment. She'd thought that Harold would respect her privacy when the tears came, but the quiet click of her beaded curtain being parted preceded a hand on her shoulder that got her to uncurl from her miserable ball. She wiped her eyes and frowned at Harold.

"No offense, Harry, but your timing sucks."

"Don't blame me. It was suggested that I check on you." Oh. Apparently having the Machine as an open system meant She was free to be nosy and prod Her assets into each others' business. Harold handed her a couple of tissues, and she sniffled and wiped her nose. "I know the answer is likely to be 'nothing', but what can I do to help you right now?"

"This can't be fixed with a pep talk and a hug," Root said. "Unless you can produce Sameen's location, you can't give me anything I need." 

"If only I could, I would already have done so, you know that." He motioned at the bed next to her. "May I?"

"Be my guest," she said, moving over slightly so he could sit. His arm pressed against hers and she leaned into him just a little bit, breathing in sencha green and the subtle scent of his aftershave, and wondered when exactly she started associating Harold's scent with comfort. "I can't believe Mom sent you to check up on me."

"The Machine didn't need to prod me into being worried about you," he said softly. "Only into doing something about it."

"And She didn't tell you what to do?"

"I'm afraid that even artificial intelligence hasn't cracked the code of human heartbreak. But you aren't alone, Miss Groves."

"Harold..."

"You aren't alone, Root," he corrected himself, and reached for her hand. "We all miss her."

"You don't miss her like I do." She'd be able to tell Harold's touch in a pitch black room-- he had a hacker's hands, same as her, calloused from typing and precise in their motion when he laced their fingers together.

"No," he said simply. "I miss her like I do. I can only imagine the depths of your pain, but we all feel Miss Shaw's loss keenly. You don't have to carry it by yourself."

"We all have our burdens to bear, Harry. I won't ask you to shoulder mine too."

"Don't make the same mistakes I did," Harold said. "The same ones John did. We've both walked the road to ruin in the wake of a loss. It nearly killed him. It would have, without your intervention and Hers."

"Ruin's waiting outside our doorstep these days, it's not a long walk down," Root said. "Don't worry. Samaritan will kill me long before my broken heart does. But if it makes you feel any better, I'll time my emotional outbursts for when you're not around."

"That doesn't make me feel any better, shockingly." 

"You want to help?"

"Yes. Please." 

"I could use a painkiller, a bottle of water, and probably a nap." Harold gently disengaged his hand from hers after a reassuring squeeze.

"Let me see what I can do about that." By the time he returned a couple of minutes later with two pills and a water bottle, she'd wiped away the last trace of her tears and gotten under the covers of her bed. "Is there anything else I can get for you?" he asked as she swallowed the pills and half the bottle of water. 

"Yeah... you can get in this bed."

"Excuse me?" Harold looked shocked. Root couldn't help but smile.

"She's telling me that I'm starved for human contact," she said. "She seems to think that we should cuddle."

"You're pulling my leg."

"Come on, Harry, I promise to behave myself. I won't even cry on you or anything."

"This is incredibly unorthodox."

"Unorthodox? Can you imagine the religious stories they'd write later about Her as a God?" Root asked, a laugh in her voice. "I think that the father of God and Her human avatar snuggling would be more Old Testament style, don't you?"

"It's not exactly fire and brimstone," he said dryly. "Perhaps a Psalm."

"Though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death," she said, and patted the bed next to her. "You don't have to stay forever. Just a few minutes."

"I suppose it can't hurt." He toed his shoes off and slid into bed next to her, startled when she immediately curled around him and rested her head on his chest. After a moment's hesitation, he put an arm around her, and she sighed and relaxed against him.

"Thanks for indulging me," she murmured. "It seems like such a small, insignificant thing..."

"Human contact?"

"Creature comfort," she corrected. "The little things. Good tea. A soft blanket. A yes when you expect a no."

"When the little things are all we can control, why shouldn't we make them as pleasant as possible?"

"That's one of the reasons I like you so much, Harold. Your commitment to excellence in detail."

"I believe that's the entire reason you found me in the first place."

"True. You're uncommonly elegant in coding and in personal taste."

"Thank you," he said, and pressed his cheek to her hair. "For what it's worth, I think your code is equally elegant."

"Aw, Harry, really? Make a girl blush," she cooed, then added more seriously, "It's worth a lot to me."

"I don't believe you're trying to nap."

"The next stage of a sleepover after the personal confessions is the hair braiding."

"I'd like to see you try." She lifted her head long enough to give him a calculating look that melted into a smile before she put it back down.

"Fine, fine, I did promise to behave and I don't want to strain your patience. And I'm sure you have something more important to get back to."

"On the contrary. The Machine tasked me with your care specifically... which makes you the highest priority right now." Root didn't have anything to say in response to that. She squeezed Harold gently and then went still, closing her eyes and enjoying the brief respite.

They weren't safe. They were all likely to die. But for the moment, no one could get them, and she was Harold's highest priority, and the blanket was very soft and Harold smelled good and she was cared for and that was more than she thought she was allowed to ask for, but the Machine had given her this, and that knowledge lulled Root to sleep.


End file.
